


Because of you

by SkyOfDust



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Eventual Smut, Fenders, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4858778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyOfDust/pseuds/SkyOfDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because sometimes it feels like there's no end to the pain.<br/>But there is. Surely, there is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sick of you

**Author's Note:**

> Just a story I write quickly when I'm in my "watch-videos-on-youtube-and-dream-about-fenders" state. So, no real plot, just a relationship that evolves.  
> I don't really respect the timeline. I mean, quests are used whenever I want, no matter if they happen only in Act III or Act I. Sorry if that bothers you, but this is not the "research and think it a lot" story. I have another one like that and I spend too much time on Dragon Age Wiki ^^
> 
> Hope you'll like it, though.

Fenris had forgotten. There were memories lingering in his mind – those of pain, of blood, of burnt – and yet he had forgotten how it felt to be touched. His lyrium brands hurt for a long time after the ritual, even bled sometimes, for no reason, just because his body wouldn't heal. Since then, it became a habit to avoid touch, to draw away every time a hand threatened to brush his wounded skin. He feared pain, he feared it like nothing else. And yet he craved for fingers stroking his skin.

“Broody?”

Fenris raised his head and his gaze met Varric's.

“Lost in your thoughts?”

The elf shrugged and looked again at his glass of wine.

“So? Hanged by the feet above a cauldron of…”

“No, Blondie. You're so damn predictable. We must invent something far more funny for our beloved knight-commander. What about something with a piece of bread and a starving rat?”

“I don't see what you're… Oh Maker, Varric!” Anders exclaimed as the thought crossed his mind.

He pretended to be shocked, but could not hide the grin that was threatening to pass his defenses. Finally, he burst into laughter, burying his face in his arms.

“You should not participate to such games, dwarf. It's sick and…”

“Come on, Broody, when was the last time you heard that sound?” he whispered to the elf, glancing at the mage still laughing.

First, the elf did not understand but then he nodded in acknowledgment. He had to admit the mage's laughter was a pleasant sound in the Hanged Man. He never heard it quite often and found himself wondering when was the last time the apostate even truly smiled. Varric raised an eyebrow, as if to say 'See? Told you!'

“Varric? Will you explain to me what you meant? I don't understand.”

The blood mage had a thoughtful expression on her face and she furrowed her brow when Varric answered that she was not quite ready for this.

“So where's Hawke?” Isabela asked, crossing her arms. “It's unbelievably boring here without her.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. The pirate had not told a single dirty joke for the whole evening and it was as relieving as… boring. Though, the mage's shoulders still shrugged and the smile on his face was contagious, Fenris realized when Isabela grinned at him, shaking his head as if she was the sane one in the party. Even Aveline, who had remained silent until now, chuckled lightly.

“Hey there!”

“Hawke! You're late for Wicked Grace!”

“Sorry!” she said, raising her hands in an apology. “Got caught by Bodhan. He did not want to get off the chandelier. What did I miss?” she asked, staring at Anders' smiling face.

He shook his head and stood, still grinning.

“I should go now, I have work to do.”

The mage left and Fenris was glad Hawke was here to cheer up the mood, because the room felt suddenly empty. He returned at his mansion hours later and slipped under the blanket after removing his armor. He had not drunk enough wine for sleep to come easily that night and he found himself turning in his bed, sighing every five minutes. Finally, he stood up and fetch a bottle of wine. It had been days now that Lady Elegant could not be found in Lowtown. Her sleeping potions had watched over Fenris' sleep for too long now. It had replaced the wine in the night and he was glad of it: hangovers were definitely unpleasant, even with the special potions she made him before proposing sleeping ones. He knew he should not drink. Hawke had asked him for a mission in the morning: he could not allow himself a hangover. But he could neither stay awake all night long. Fenris sighed, knowing what he had to do.

He grabbed his sword and hurried to Darktown, until he reached the abomination's clinic. He noticed the door was still open and approached carefully. He opened it wide and entered the room silently. The mage was at his desk, face laying on his arms, eyes closed. His manifesto was left aside and the quill was in its box. What was he doing so he would pass out on his chair like this? Fenris was about to wake him up but a hint of guilt rose in his guts. He was not the compassionate kind, but he could not wake the mage to ask him sleeping potions. He was not that selfish.

He looked at the sleeping apostate and a smirk threatened to quirk up his lips. He coughed lightly as he stared at the closed eyes. Riddles of concern and anger had vanished and the mage seemed just at peace. Fenris told himself it must be what the mage looked like without a pestering demon inside his head. Young, beautiful, careless. Soothed.

Fenris extinguished the candle on the desk and entered the mage's bedroom to fetch a blanket. He stared at the bed and sighed: all the sheets and mattress were covered in blood and body fluids. More than once the healer had complained about the lack of cots in his clinic. Hawke had managed to purchase some for him despite his refusal, but it seemed it was not enough. Fenris shrugged and left the clinic, closing the door behind him. There was nothing he could do for the mage – not that he even _wanted_ to do something. It was none of his business.

 

 

When he joined Hawke and the party on the way to the Blooming Rose to find clues on templars' disappearance, he was as tired as he could be. Anders, as for him, wondered how his body could ache so much despite the little healing spell he had gratified his back and neck. The elf stared at the apostate who stretched his limbs, wincing lightly when the bones cracked.

“Did you sleep well, mage?” Fenris asked with an equal voice.

Anders raised his eyebrows and shrugged, wincing again when the gesture awoke the aches in his back. The cranky elf wanted to make conversation? Fine, he'd play the game.

“I guess” he answered. “It's a miracle I manage to sleep at all, sometimes, with Justice always pestering me and…”

“I don't want to know about your pet demon, abomination” Fenris barked at him.

Anders rolled his eyes and left Fenris with his bad mood. The elf shook his head. He was just too tired, he did not _really_ mean to upset the mage. Their bickering rarely ended up with one of them mad at the other. It was a habit more than anything else, even though it happened one of them just crossed an invisible line.

A few months ago, when Justice almost killed the girl in the Mage Underground, Fenris knew he should not say anything. Though he could not prevent the words from spilling out of his mouth. The talk ended up with 'so help me' from the mage and they stopped talking for a while. Their companions were not even pleased with this new silence, knowing their constant bickering was even preferable to this hatred and anger they had never truly shared before. After all, Hawke sided the mages and Fenris did not hate her for this – though she was not an _abomination_. It was the demon within the mage that made Fenris angry. And it was the demon within the mage that made Anders care more about mages than companions. The apostate wouldn't understand the elf's point of view. He'd never been to the Imperium, he could not understand. And the elf had never been to the Circle, maybe he too wouldn't quite catch everything Anders said. Yet they were comrades in battles; there was no place for true loathing between them. Somehow, even if he tried hard, Fenris could not despise the healer.

“My apologies, mage” Fenris said when he reached out for the apostate.

Hawke raised an eyebrow and gave them more privacy, though they did not need it. They heard her begging Isabela not to draw attention at the Blooming Rose as she was answered with a big laughter from Varric.

“I did not sleep and I'm not in a great mood” the elf explained. “I should have been more polite.”

“Trouble sleeping?” the mage mumbled. “I know that quite well. Need help?” he asked.

Seemed he was accepting the apologies.

“Lady Elegant used to provide me potions.”

“Not anymore, I guess. I'll give you some when we return.”

 

 

Of course, it was a blood mage. Again. The way the “apostitute”, as Isabela called her, controled Hawke's mind had had Fenris frown his nose and look at Anders as if he was the responsible of this mess. They still were looking for the missing templar but the mage knew already he did not want to get involved in this. Though he could not refuse anything to Hawke, of course. So he would find himself in front of blood mages before he could even say 'circle'. He hated blood mages. They represented everything wrong about magic, though it was only a weapon to fight the templars, by now. People were not as scared of swords as they were of magic, but it was only the same thing : a tool. Danger only depended on who was using this tool. Fenris was quite an example of it. 'So we agree that it doesn't take a demon for someone to be a vicious killer? Good.' At the time, the elf did not answer and Anders had thought he had proved a point. Following bickering had proved him wrong about it.

“So?”

Anders raised his eyebrows and looked at Fenris who was staring at him, waiting for an answer. Hawke was talking with Jethann and Anders had decided he was too far tired of people for now, so he'd just sit in the main room while waiting for Hawke. Fenris had joined him soon after, an exasperated look on his face. No wonder why Isabela stayed there.

“So what?” the mage asked, letting his gaze wandering around.

“What do you have to say about all this?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Well, that's a first.”

“Could we just… not talk about it now? Go pester someone else.”

“Mage...” Fenris simply said in some kind of warning, knowing what was coming.

“You know what?” Anders suddenly asked, raising on his feet, anger rising in his chest. “I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you. You want me dead? Kill me. You want me to the Gallows? Turn me in. But stop fucking calling me mage in public places so that anyone can hear and look at me like I am a bloody monster. I've seen that look for the first time in my father's eyes and it did not stop following me since, wherever I go. If I manage to keep some sanity it is only because there are people like Hawke – and how rare are they! – who manage to understand what it is like to be… doesn't matter” he added with a sigh, closing briefly his eyes. “I'd have thought being a former slave would have you understand, more than anyone else. But you're just a fool and I pity you.” He spat the last words before turning on his heels and leaving the Blooming Rose. Hawke did not need him anymore to save a templar. Anders did not save templars, for god's sake!

And yet he found himself hours later with Hawke, Fenris and Isabela in front of blood mages' corpses and a naked templar who might even be possessed. Anders almost laughed, if it was not for the scared expression on the boy's face he remained still. The lad did not seem terrible. Anders had met kind templars, those who smiled at him sometimes just to say 'hello' because, of course, templars could not melt with mages, at least speak with them as if they were humans.

It took only less than an hour for them to return to the Gallows and find Cullen. Hawke explained the situtaion and Keran's sister stepped back when she heard about demons. Keran started to talk and Anders felt Justice roaring in his mind. He winced and looked away, but he could not prevent the boy's words from filling his mind.

“Those mages see the rest of us as ants to be crushed” he said as if putting his armor back on gave him the right to deny he had been saved by mages.

As if templars did not see mages like that – proof were made with Tranquils, after all. 'Keep calm. The boy does not know. He's been the prey of blood mages and demons. '

“They won't stop until they've destroyed the Chantry and the templars forever”.

That would be great. No Chantry, no templars, no opression. Anders was about to give it another thought but he noticed the sidelong look the elf gave him and his heart missed a beat. Fenris' gaze was unreadable. Eyebrows frowned, he was just staring at the man as if to see what was happening in his head, hiding his own thoughts. Somehow, Anders felt relieved he did not see hatred in green pupils. He was tired of being hated by people he did not even know. It was even harder when it was people he spent his days with. Too many people despised him.

“They are weapons” Cullen stated, his voice harsh and determined. “they have the power to light a city on fire in a fit of pique”

It would take a little more than a fit of pique. Anders hold back a sigh. Maker, was that possible to be so damn tired of all this while always talking about it anytime he had the chance?

Fenris was still staring at the mage. The apostate seemed thoughtful. Exhausted as well. But not angry. He had helped saving the templar. Testing him so that they'd be sure no demon possessed him. Was standing still while all his kind was harshly condemned by two templars who owed him. Yet he was just as usual and Fenris nodded when his gaze met Anders, as if to say 'right now, I understand, and I respect you'. It had nothing to do with their believes. Fenris agreed with what was being said. But somehow, the mage's reaction had him thinking about what the apostate had suffered all these years. He knew what led him to all this and the exhausted amber eyes seemed to haunt him suddenly.

 

 

“What are you doing here?” Fenris asked with bitterness.

Anders closed his eyes, breathed in slowly, and opened them again. He was a healer; he was a patient man. They had returned from the Gallows three hours ago and Anders had spent them making sleeping potions for the cranky elf and yet he was welcomed as a…

“Mage?” Fenris asked again.

Another deep breath. Don't. Try. To kill. The broody elf.

“I made you potions, you ungreatful bastard”

The mage shoved him a bag and Fenris caught it with a hint of surprise in his eyes. After their argument at the Blooming Rose, he'd never thought the apostate would still keep his promise.  
The mage was already turning on his heels and, before he could even realize it, Fenris' hand was grasping his wrist to hold him back. The apostate did not turn but just waited for the elf to say the words.

“You have my thanks, healer.”

Anders nodded and left when Fenris released his wrist. The elf looked down at his gauntlets and suddenly wished he did not wear them.


	2. Stop hurting me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's more little scenes that crossed my mind than an actual story, even though I intend to make their relationship EVOLVE. How, I don't know. When. I don't know either.

 

Fenris looked up at the mage, whose hands were just an inch from his markings. He knew he was tensed even though the pain had not made an appearance yet. The feeling of magic suddenly spreading in his body made the lyrium pulse unpleasantly under his skin and he stared at the candle lit up next to the cot, breaking the darkness of the night.

He was not badly wounded but the rogues had sneaky ways to kill their prey. His tiredness had him careless and he had not seen the blade until it was too late.

“It'll take less than a minute” the healer simply said.

Already, pain was rising and the warrior began to shake, clenching his fists in the sheets on the cot he was lying on, closing his eyes to forget about the burnt. He should have known well enough not to let Hawke convince him to go to the healer. He dreaded so much this pain he was beginning to fear the mage. And he once promised to himself he'd never let another mage hold anything against him.

“What about poison, Fenris?” Hawke had asked with a concerned look at the wound on his ribs. “You're not immortal.”

He could not refuse her anything, so he went at the clinic after the fight and the mage had welcomed him with an equal voice, though his eyes said how much he hated it as well.

It did not happen that often that Fenris was so badly wounded he needed Anders' magic. But each time he had to accept the mage's help to survive, both of them found themselves glaring at each other for days, unable to forget the bitterness magic always raised between them.

“Venhedis, Mage…” Fenris warned as he felt like his skin was turning into dust and ashes.

“Almost, Fenris. Almost.”

Fenris suddenly hated the mage for this pain inflicted to him. Magic was evil. All mages were evil.

Usually, Fenris only thought Anders was annoying. Unnerving. But not dangerous – his pet demon was, but not him. He found himself trusting the mage on the battlefield, acknowledging his abilities and respecting him. And when he watched at the abomination healing wounds with a satisfied look on his face, he'd come to think the mage was just pure in his motives. But then, when these hands pushed magic through his markings, it was only hatred, pure hatred and anger, that filled up his heart.

“Stop now”! the elf shouted as his body shook violently because of the pain. “I'd rather die!”

It was a lie and the mage knew it. Fenris had handled worse, but he was so tired of this pain. He just wanted it to stop.

“Too late, you'll survive” Anders stated as the pain disappeared suddenly. “I'll think about it next time, that is. Letting you die.”

Only remained the light pulse in Fenris' markings, as he opened his eyes and tried to calm down his breath and heart.

“You can stop glowing” Anders said with an exasperated voice. “I'll hold you responsible for every damn mosquito flying in my clinic! There, drink” he added, handing the elf a potion. “I only prevented the poison from spreading, your wound still needs treatment. It needs no magic, though, I'll stitch it. If you can handle the pain, you wimp.”

“He cut it. I remember it well enough.”

“What?” Anders asked as he prepared poultice, bandages and a basin of clean water.

“My skin. He had a long knife. He cut my skin, slipped his sharp blade under it and pulled to separate the flesh from the muscles and bones, before he spilled the lyrium beneath…”

A shiver ran down Anders' spine as the details became alive in his mind. He could perfectly picture the long cuts, flesh torn in intricate patterns that turned blue when the lyrium burnt the muscles, the flesh and the skin.

“Fenris, I needn't…” he started but the warrior seemed drowned into his memories

“It was like being burnt alive, though I could feel my blood running down my body. For each drop he spread, one of lyrium replaced it. Do you know how long it lasted? Do you know, maleficar?” Fenris shouted as he rose up to his feet and stumbled.

“Fenris, don't move, you fool!”

'Maleficar.' Anders winced but did not say anything. He knew better than to make the elf angry after inflicting him so much pain – he quite liked feeling his heart beating in his chest rather than seeing it in a lyrium-branded bloody hand. But Maker, he hated being compared to Magisters.

Anders was about to put a hand on his chest to push him gently back on the cot but jerked his fingers away as he realized who he almost touched. He just showed the cot to the elf so he would sit back and Anders gave a satisfied nod when Fenris laid on the sheets again.

The elf's gaze was unreadable and Anders looked at the wound again, avoiding the green pupils.

"And do _you_ know how it feels every time, elf?" he finally asked while examining the cut again.

"What?"

"I'm a healer. Do you know how it feels to inflict you so much pain you always beg me to end you? It hurts."

"I do not beg!" Fenris replied with a snarl, somehow surprised by the mage's honesty.

Fenris hissed when a needle was pushed through his skin. Not once Anders' fingers touched one of the markings. It seemed they did not even brushed the elf, even when he bandaged Fenris torso, he managed to keep his hands away from the skin. The elf mentally thanked the apostate, though he did not know if he truly wished this anymore. He could feel the tickling of Anders' breath and it was pleasant. Very much peasant. He wondered how it would feel like to have slender fingers stroking his skin without raising any wave of pain.

 

 

Anders looked at Fenris and sighed. He was already exhausted by the fight, so he reached a bottle of lyrium and swallowed it quickly until he felt his mana humming in his body. He knelt beside the elf and took a look at the wound after removing the elf's armor and shirt. Organs were damaged: it needed magic. A lot of it. Maker, the wound on his ribs just began to heal. How was it that damn possible to be so careless?

“I'm so sorry” he whispered before raising his hands above Fenris' stomach.

A blue light started to glow from his fingertips and it took only seconds before his full strength was forcing a way into Fenris' body, who immediately reacted to the pain. The elf whimpered, eyes closed, sweat already running down his face. Anders was calling the Fade as he never did, and knew the healing spell he was casting was one of the most powerful and painful he ever did.

“No!” the elf whimpered in a husky voice. “Make it stop! Stop it, please!”

A shiver ran down Anders' spine. Maker, he was so tired of this. He too wanted to make it stop.

“Anders…” Hawke whispered by their side, concern in her voice.

“I have no choice, Hawke!” he shouted at her with anger. “Just go and let me do my work here!”

Hawke was about to respond but Varric put a hand on her arm and led her away. They soon were out of sight and Anders could focus more on the wounded elf next to him.

“Kill me, please! Make it stop! Kill me now!”

His voice was just a whisper; Anders had never heard the elf scream. Anders' heart hammered in his chest. What a waste! Healing magic was a gift. Anders had always been proud of his abilities, whether he used them to save lives or to entertain some pirate girl at the Pearl. But the magisters succeeded in spoiling even _this_. Anders felt like a persecutor, as if he was torturing a slave for being nothing more than what he was, as if it was him who was burning lyrium markings onto wounded skin. Maleficar. Maybe he was no better than a magister.

“I'm almost done, Fenris. Just hang on.”

His voice broke on the last few words as he felt his mana being drawn away. He too needed to hang on for a few more seconds. Finally, when he was certain the elf would survive, he stopped casting the spell. He was left panting, sweating, exhausted. Tired, so, so tired. His hands dropped as he looked at the elf's face, worrying he would never open his eyes again. But almost immediately, green pupils appeared through eyelashes and the mage let a relieved sigh escape his mouth. But as he stared at the warrior, he followed his gaze… on the healer's hands, resting on Fenris' torso. Anders jerked away as he realized where his fingers were lying and fell to his back, his elbows burying in the sand as he tried to crumble far from the elf, aware of the brands still lit up and the fist that could crush his heart in a second.

“Please don't kill me” he whimpered when the elf sat back in a quick and graceful motion. “I did not mean... I…”

But exhaustion took him and he fell completely, head hitting gently the sand, breath quickened and heart hammering in his chest. He put an arm on his eyes and waited. Nothing came. Not a sound, not a voice, not a single finger in his organs. He just waited for his heartbeat to slow down. And it did.

“Mage?”

Anders answered with a 'Hmm?', tiredness claiming his limbs so he could no longer move.

“I do not wish your death. Well, I quite did a few minutes ago, as I wished mine, but… I mean, you do not have to fear me.”

“I know. Justice is displeased.”

“Sorry?”

“He thinks I'm a coward. I think I'm a coward. I might be. I ran from the Circle, from the Wardens. I fear the templars, I fear the Deep Roads, I fear death, I fear pain and I fear you. Sorry I implied you'd kill me, I'm just… tired.”

Anders cleared his throat as his voice broke again on the last word, making it even more significant.

“Hawke is not far, you should fetch her. She's concerned about you, you need reassure her. I just need a few more minutes.”

He heard nothing, only felt a gauntleted hand grasping his arm and pulled so he would open his eyes. He furrowed his brows as he looked at Fenris above him. There was something mysterious about the elf. The way he smirked sometimes, for no obvious reason, and the way he frowned before what he should laugh of. The way his brow furrowed sometimes, or this habit of staring. Fenris stared a lot, as if everything was an equation of which he needed the answer. Everything about him was mysterious and Anders was embarrassed, not knowing what was happening in his fellow's mind.

“Don't look so weak, mage. I cannot hate you if you're like that.”

“I thought you hated me for being weak.”

“Perhaps.”

“I'm sorry I hurt you.”

Fenris leaned closer and suddenly their bodies touched. Anders shivered and looked away.

“Your touch has always hurt me, mage.”

Anders winced, though a quick smirk stretched the elf's lips as he leaned down, getting closer to the mage. His white hair was falling around his face and threatened to tickle Anders' forehead. Immediately, Anders put a hand on Fenris' chest to prevent him from getting even closer – he was not sure how he would react to such proximity with a half-naked lanky gorgeous body. The warrior raised his brows and lowered his head to look at Anders' pale fingers on his tanned skin. A thumb was touching a lyrium marking, hiding the patterns from view. It felt… extremely strange. It had nothing to do with the contact of leather on his skin, or even his own hands when he cleaned himself. This foreign hand seemed to awake something in Fenris' body and he could all but be pleased.

As the mage was about to move again, Fenris grabbed his wrist to held his hand in place, closing his eyes to analyze the feeling that spread all over him like a wave of very light pleasure. It was almost indiscernible, but he could feel his markings hum with contentment, all memories of pain vanished by the tickling beneath his skin. All about a single hand on his chest. He wondered how it would feel to push it further. To allow something more.. intimate. Rare. Little did he know why he thought about it in the mage's arms. Maybe because he wanted to be sure these hands were not meant to inflict him only pain.

“Fenris?” Anders asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Are you okay?”

Fenris opened his eyes and nodded before leaning down again, unaware of the mage's hand that tried to hold him back – or tried to pretend to try to hold him back. The mage was good-looking. More than once Fenris had watched him, wondering how it would feel to look at those amber eyes while feeling hot breath against his face, how it would be to hold the skinny body against his and feel the stubble brushing his cheeks, the hair tickling his ears. Senseless desires he had denied, because of this deep fear of pain. He wanted to know how it felt, how it was to be overwhelmed by sensations, by a brushing, by skin against skin. But still, he feared pain, so he drew away again, the mage's hand falling on his own chest as Fenris moved aside.

Sometimes it just sort of happened. He was in the Hanged Man in good company, or alone in his mansion, and the markings would just fire in pain, with no reason. Sometimes it was just a breeze outside that hurt. Sometimes it was fingers holding an arm, grasping a shoulder.

“I am okay, mage” Fenris simply replied with a smirk, before rising up to his feet and proposing a hand to the apostate, who carefully took it.

He was pulled on his feet and cleaned his coat from the sand, wondering if he needed to ask the elf about what just happened or if he must simply forget all about it.

“You should drink a healing potion, Fenris” he advised the elf before retrieving his staff from the ground.

The elf shrugged and was about to say something when Hawke appeared.

“Fenris! Andraste's flaming tits, you scared us!”

“I am well, thank you.”

“Did you thank Anders? Because he's the one who saved you, after all.”

Anders' eyebrows raised and he shook his head. All he could remember was 'Kill me' and he did not feel like he saved anyone. Plus, the elf never thanked him and nothing had changed between them, right?

“Doesn't matter” he answered before the elf could answer. “Let's go back to Kirkwall, shall we? I'll have a very hot bath and a very hot meal and a very long night of sleep and…”

“You always say that, Blondie, and we've learned better than to believe you.”

“I don't know what you're talking about” the mage grumbled, his staff burying in the sand at each step.

Though he knew the dwarf was right. No matter how hard he wanted all this, Justice would not let him rest more than necessary. A quick bath, a quick nap, an apple and he'd be getting back to work.

 

 

Of course, the dwarf was right. They hadn't seen the mage for two days, only hearing rumors about overwhelmed clinic and exhausted healer. Hawke decided not to get involved, sending food and supplies sometimes. She didn't want to bother the healer. Though, Fenris knew better than letting someone as the mage taking care of himself for two days. He'd never sleep or eat if Hawke was not here to remind him. Fenris made his way to Darktown and found an almost empty clinic, widening his eyes before the mess. The mage was sitting at his desk, head buried in his arms, his shoulders raising slowly as he breathed in deeply. A man was laying on a cot nearby, moaning in his sleep. Empty bottles were scattered on the floor around and Fenris understood that sometimes, alcohol was the only real painkiller – hell yeah, he did know about it.

“Mage?”

The apostate jumped and rose up before facing Fenris with a lost look.

“Fenris? I… Sorry, I was just… What are you doing here? Need me? Because I can't leave right now. Or maybe I can.” he added with a glance at his patient. “But not too long. 'cause if he wakes up and I'm not here... Well, I can't do much for him anyway. Did you…”

“Mage!” the elf interrupted him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah!” he answered immediately. “Of course I am. Why wouldn't I? And you? You need healing? Are you okay?”

Fenris tilted his head and took a step forward.

“Mage...”

“Aren't you going to say anything more? What do you want?!” he asked again with more bitterness this time.

Fenris just crossed the distance between them in three quick steps and his hands found their way to Anders' shoulders, squeezing them gently. The mage looked at him with surprise, his tired eyes locking on the green emeralds that were watching him.

“Fenris...” he whispered, his heart heavy in his chest.

The elf waited. It'll come. He knew it, the mage would speak.

“I'm tired.” he simply said.

Fenris knew this. It was no lack of sleep, no physical weakness. It was broken mind, broken heart, broken soul. Just broken.

“May I help?”

“You can't.” Anders whispered as he looked down. “No one can help me.”

“Healer!”

Anders jumped and almost ran to his patient, magic already reaching his fingertips. He rested his palm on the man's forehead and blue light illuminated the room as the healing spell worked its way through sickness and disease. Finally, Anders handed a sleeping potion to the man and when he fell asleep again, the mage sat near the cot in the dust, sighing heavily, his eyes closed.

“He should not be still alive. I told him 'a few hours' and it's been two days now. He wants to live, after all.”

“There's nothing you can do for him?”

“No. Make him sleep. Ease the pain, the symptoms. That's all I can do. He'll die. And will suffer until then.”

Fenris frowned and joined the mage, squatting next to him. The silence filled the room until Anders opened his eyes again.

“Shouldn't you kill him?” Fenris asked, tilting his head.

Anders glowered at him and raised his hand as if to say 'let's do it!'

“Hell yeah! Why not kill everyone, right? Unlike you, not everybody likes killing people.”

Fenris looked away. He couldn't deny killing had its advantages. The more he killed, the less threatened he felt. His chance of survival seemed to raise at each lifeless body he left behind. But a dying man? It was out of mercy, nothing else.

“I mean 'ease his pain definitely'. You said he'd die. End his pain, make it quick.”

Anders sighed again, all anger vanished, and nodded slowly.

“I can't pretend I didn't think about it. But I can't do it. I've known him for years now. He's a nice man. He deserves no pain. He even asked me to kill him in his sleep. Maker, I can't.”

“All you have to do is ask.”

“Fenris...” the mage whispered again.

“I was made a weapon. I'm born to kill. One more victim, what is it? Just ask, and I'll do it for you.”

A moan interrupted Anders' thoughts and he rose up to spill another potion between the man's lips.

“Mage… just think about it. We can't let him suffer like this.”

“Does your… fisting thing hurt?”

“Not if I don't want to. It'll be quick, I promise.”

“He had a daughter. Taken by templars.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. Was the mage really going to offer him a speech about the plight of mages? Now?

“I don't know how to tell her. I can't just send a letter, can I? He didn't talk to her in years. They were in bad terms after he let the templars take her. He deeply regretted it, he said to me once.”

Fenris knew the mage couldn't help thinking about his own story.

“Maybe my father is dying somewhere and I'll never know. Would I want to know? Would she want to know?”

Anders returned to his desk and put the empty bottle on it with more violence than necessary.

“Do it.” he just said, not looking at the elf. “If you're sure it won't haunt you. It certainly will haunt me.”

There was no other way. Anders would be haunted by both the ideas of letting him suffering and allowing a murder. Both were a terrible fate for the healer. Too kind and compassionate for his own good.

Fenris got closer to the man, his brands lit up blue and his fist passed quickly the flesh to reach the organ. It took less than two seconds and the breath stopped, the man's chest remaining still. Fenris grabbed a rag to clean his bloody gauntlet before hiding the corpse under a blanket.

“It doesn't happen that often that I'm helpless.” Anders commented, lowering his head.

“You're always helpful, mage. You just can't save everyone.”

“Last night I… I ran out of potions. By the time I made more, he… screamed. A lot. Begged me to end him. It reminded me of you.”

“Well, next time I beg you to kill me, don't listen. I quite enjoy being alive.”

“Do you?”

“Don't you?”

“I might.”

“You might?”

“These things ain't certain anymore. Thanks for your help. I'll need Varric to… well, get rid of the corpse.”

He reached his staff, put on his coat and headed to the door, but Fenris' hand grasped his wrist, his brands still lit up in blue. Anders tried not to stare but miserably failed, as his eyes watched at the lanky silhouette, the dark skin, the big eyes, the white hair.

“It'll be all right, Anders.”

“What?”

“Everything soothes with time. Pain above everything else.”

He glanced at his own markings and a shiver ran down his spine.

“When you heal me, it feels like there's no end to the pain and I would be better dead. There's always an end.” he added with a heavy look. “What you're feeling now will not last.”

“I wasn't aware you were the 'hoping and optimistic' kind” Anders said, smirking and tilting his head to the side.

“I'm saying things as they are, that's all.”

“I know. This is the thing about you: everything seems simple. And yet it's not. I should be going. Thank you again.”

Fenris let go of his wrist and Anders nodded before leaving the clinic and the elf, not bothering closing the door behind him. He had so few possessions he was not afraid someone would enter and steal everything. His mother's pillow was in a locked hidden chest. He needed nothing more than his staff and his coat to survive. It would have been nice to have something more, though. A nice shelter; shelves with books he liked reading in his childhood, a tablecloth with gifts that were given for his name day, a fire burning in the hearth while someone would talk in a deep calm voice, telling stories about the world, about the past, about the future. Something worth living for instead of dying for.

He wished someone would have warned him, told him what would happen, would have prepared the innocent child that he was at the moment. 'You're gonna cry, and you're gonna laugh. It will hurt a lot, but you will smile sometimes. You'll fall, often, but you'll stand up as well. You'll fail and you'll have to try again. You're gonna dream and wish, and you'll be hopeless. You're gonna be fooled, betrayed, wounded and knocked down. You're gonna grow up and grow old. And someday you will understand. You're gonna catch it, Maker, but it's worth it. Shit, it's worth it all.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, not much to say. It's just words shoved on paper... well, on the computer. Does not make really sense and it's not well written but again, it's more about 'don't care about what I write' (and that's a first to me!)  
> Thanks for reading! I always answer the comments, so don't be shy.


	3. I lost my cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you'll like it. I'm supposed to be in 'analyse des interactions verbales' lesson, but hey, it's raining, and how am I supposed to resist a hot chocolate, in front of my computer, writing and reading fluffy Fenders?
> 
> So, Anders actually lost his cat, did he not?

"Green. Green is good for underwear. Yours would be a dark green. Do they have peas?"

"Sod off!" Fenris just said in response and Isabela shrugged before she joined Hawke after a 'you're no fun' full of sadness.

Fenris could almost feel guilty. They just got out from some cave on Sundermount and were walking down the hill. Suddenly, the elf noticed the mage was not behind him anymore and looked around, to find him standing a few feet away behind some mysterious structure, leaning against it, looking at the horizon. The mage's face was like he'd never seen it. It seemed pain and joy were melting in a little smile he was giving to the blue sky. Rare smiles. Fenris felt like he interrupted something intimate when he called him out.

“Mage.”

Anders looked at him and raised his eyebrows, as if forgotten where he was, before nodding.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I was just… thinking. This way...” he pointed out a direction and sighed heavily. “This way is home. My home. If I do have one, that is.”

Fenris looked at the man before his eyes and shifted. He seemed terribly human at this moment. The elf joined the mage and leaned on the rock too, before showing another direction.

“There, is Seheron.”

“Where's your home?” Anders asked, tilting his head with a sad smile.

“Wherever I want it to.”

“I wished it was that simple. Well, maybe it is.”

“Anders? Fenris?”

“Coming, Hawke!” the mage answered as he straightened up and sighed again, stealing a last glance at the horizon.

Somehow, something lingered in the warrior's mind, something that stirred unpleasantly inside. He had never been nostalgic for he had no memories. Could he miss something he never knew? He did.

“Shit, Broody!”

Fenris did not see the spider behind him until it burnt in flames and became ashes at his feet in less than three seconds, killed by some blue-eyed monster nearby.

“I always got your back, cranky elf!”the mage pouted, brushing the feathers on his pauldron with a satisfied look.

But Fenris snarled indignantly. He'd not been saved by Anders, but by Justice, and that raised a terrible wave of bitterness, anger, hatred. Something so strong he wouldn't be able to tell his own name while in this state of mind. He just ran towards the mage and pushed him so harshly the man fell violently on the floor, his head hitting a rock. However, he was back on his feet in a second, his eyes narrowed by pain, losing briefly his balance before leaning on his staff.

“Andraste's tits, Fenris! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“With _me_? Look at yourself! Everything is wrong with _you_! Stay away from me, abomination. I'd rather be stabbed by a rogue than saved by a demon!”

“Justice is no… Maker, I'm just _so_ sick of it. Die, for what I care, lyrium ghost.”

Fenris froze and widened his eyes at the last words. Anders brushed past him with a shrug, rubbing the back of his head, his nose curled. He mumbled something in a foreign language Fenris did not know and joined Varric, who sighed heavily, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You two are...”

“Please, Varric, just don't say anything.”

The dwarf shrugged and left the mage, who had stopped to steady his balance on another high rock put there for some ritual Dalish might have forgotten everything about. He rubbed his head again, eyes closed.

“Why don't you simply heal yourself, mage?”

Anders shut his eyes open and glowered at him, before starting to walk again. The warrior followed, waiting for the answer.

“Because I don't usually cast healing spells for a headache, elf. Especially on a mission on Sundermount where we might meet Varterral, giant spiders and Maker knows what other horrible monsters.”

“That's… unexpected.”

The mage did not answer, though Fenris knew by the curl of his lips and his narrowed eyes that he did indeed have something to say.

“Mage, I...”

“Elf, you're a pain in my ass. Though it seems to me I have a debt since you helped me with Dan, the dying man. You even spared me your 'you're weak' speech then, so I won't say anything about what just happened. But remember this: next time you dare to lay hands on me, I'll do worse than burning you down and let wolves poop on your remains, see?”

Maker, why did Fenris smirk at this moment, he could not know. It even seemed the mage did notice it and thought the elf was mocking him.

“You don't actually think I'd be able to kill you, right? I guess, someday, we'll have to learn the answer to that question.”

“Do you think we're meant to be enemies?” Fenris asked, looking at the man's profile: his straight nose, his long eyelashes, the irregular stubble broken by very thin scars, the little hole on the lobe that he heard was once wearing an earring.

“Don't you?”

“I don't.” he simply answered, looking away as a shiver wormed its way along his spine.

Anders stopped suddenly and caught Fenris by his spiky armor to pull him closer. He did not let Fenris the time to think or to push him away – or even to crush his heart in his chest.

“Stop beating about the bush, elf. It's like 'kill me or fuck me'. Don't play on both sides, that's all.”

He let him go and left Fenris there, stunned by those words he could not decode. A breeze suddenly rose and Fenris' body began to tremble as the pain awoke on his skin. Not now, please, not now. He was tired of pain. Just a little rest, was it too much to ask? It seemed so.

A gasp escaped his mouth and the mage turned to look at Fenris. Though, Fenris had learned not to scream in pain, not to frown, to curl his nose, to furrow his brow. He was unreadable, shoving hands with an annoyed snarl when they threatened to brush his skin, and that was it. He'd rather let the others think he was rude than let them acknowledge his pain and use it against him. The mage had already too much power on him. Any mage. He knew he was a liability for his friends when fighting mages. The weakest spell could have him beg for death because of his markings. And, he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he was fucking scared to face Danarius alone with this weakness. That was why he joined Hawke in the first place: he knew he needed someone like her. He knew he needed help in facing the tiger.

“Are you alright?”

“I am, abomination. Don't ever touch me again!”

“I didn't, you fool.”

Somehow it was true. Anders' fingers had not been in contact with Fenris' skin. Only his armor. Fenris wondered if the mage did it on purpose, if he was careful, avoiding the markings, or if it was just coincidence. The abomination had always watched over him in battles. He dealt with mages before they could cast spells towards Fenris, freezing them, petrifying them, and Fenris would slaughter them with a swing of his sword without fear. They made a good team. They were comrades in battles, fellows on fights. But when it came to speak, there was no way they reached a point of mutual comprehension.

“Mage?” he called when the abomination began to walk away.

“Yes, elf?”

Fenris smirked. He knew after all these years Anders had owned the right to be called by his name. Though it had become a habit to call him like that, just like he called Aveline 'the guard captain' and Varric 'the dwarf'. Hawke, on the other hand, had always been 'Hawke' to him. He never called her 'mage'. Most of the time, he forgot she carried a staff and summoned lightnings to roast her enemies.

“I apologize. I shouldn't have… manhandled you.”

“You can manhandle me anytime, Fenris. But only on purpose.” he added with a wink.

Anders walked away again, chuckling lightly so Fenris wouldn't hear him. The elf's face was priceless and even if Anders did not _really_ flirt, it was worth it. Anders liked teasing him: it was his own revenge, somehow. Seemed he had found another way to torture the warrior without guilty conscience. He had found a new game.

 

 

“It's raining.”

“Really? I didn't notice!” the mage answered in a sarcastic tone.

The elf, no matter how lanky he seemed, was fucking heavy. Anders was trying to support him the best he could but Fenris didn't stop slipping out of his grasp, as Anders tried not to touch the warrior, grabbing his armor instead of him. They had not even left the Hanged Man yet, the elf opposing resistance at the door entrance.

“I don't wanna go out! It's raining!”

He raised the bottle of wine he had kept in his right hand to his mouth and frowned when he realized it was empty.

“Water never killed anyone, Fenris.”

“I need another bottle!”

“No, you don't.”

Though, Anders knew easily what it was all about. So he led the warrior to a chair nearby, bought another bottle of wine to Corf who shook his head in disdain, and handed it to the elf.

“We can't wait for the rain to stop, Fenris. And you won't be able to sleep here anyway. The potions are at your mansion, remember? The pain will last all night if you don't...”

In a second, Fenris left hand was tied in the mage's coat and he pulled him down to look at him in the eyes, swaying on his chair.

“Don't ever dare to say you know anything about it, mage.”

“Fine. Stay here with your bottle. Sometimes wine is not sufficient, Fenris. Sleep would help you and you know it. Choice is simple: terrible pain under the rain for a few minutes, or faint one for the whole night. Wine and hangover, or potion and sleep.”

Suddenly, when Fenris' eyes raised again to stare at him, Anders shuddered. The man did indeed have puppy eyes. Maker. He cleared his throat and looked away.

“Why are you still here, mage? I can handle myself.”

Though there was no bitterness in his voice anymore and the growl in it had the mage shiver again.

“Of course you can. You have already forgotten? You told Hawke to 'go screw herself because you don't need a mage's help' when she proposed to walk you home. You vomited on Varric's last novel, so he kicked you out of his room. You asked Merrill if she bled kittens to summon her demon and Isabela if her former husband was not good enough at bed and...”

An indignant snarl interrupted him and Anders sighed. When in pain, the elf was insufferable. And Anders understood that. That was why he stayed despite the 'you're a monster and I will kill you' speeches and the 'templars should make you Tranquil' part he heard the whole evening. Whether Fenris actually meant what he said or not, Anders knew the elf did not mean to hurt his fellows that much. Anders too had learned to hide his pain. Though it was not the same kind of pain, surely.

“It would be easier if you just told them, you know. They would understand. They would _care_.”

The elf didn't answer and Anders helped him raise on his feet before they went out of the Hanged Man. When the first drops of rain hit Fenris' skin, Anders felt him tense next to him.

“It's all right, Fenris. Everything eases with time. Pain above everything else.”

The elf stopped suddenly and Anders hand slipped on the armor, brushing a bare wet arm. Immediately, he took a step backwards, just in case, but Fenris did not move, standing in the rain despite the fact it hurt him, staring at Anders. He may have drunk countless bottles of wine, he was however standing still, like frozen.

“'It's always seemed like he must have lost more than the rest of us'” he said, his gaze locked on amber eyes.

“What? Maker, he's the one babbling now” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“That's what she said. I remember it well. At the time I thought it could not be true. That I had lost more. Now I want to know the truth. What did you lose, Anders?”

The drizzle suddenly turned into pouring rain and Fenris closed his eyes, his body trembling.

“Maker, Fenris, move!”

Anders grasped his armor again and pulled him so they would stand beneath the little part of the roof that passed the wall. The elf almost crashed against the stones as he lost his balance, but strong hands caught him before.

“Please, mage, stop hurting me!” he whimpered as the fingers on his elbows burnt like fire on his markings.

Anders jerked away and sighed.

“I'm sorry, Fenris. Really sorry. For everything. Let's get you home.”

The mage was careful not to touch him again. He led the elf in narrow streets, where they were mostly protected from the rain, supporting the drunk elf as best as he could, panting in exhaustion but pulling strongly the weak body that was radiating so much warmth the healer thought Fenris could die from a fever right now. But it was just the markings. Terrible scars that ran down the elf's body, screaming to the healer 'please help me'. And yet he could not.

They finally arrived at Fenris' mansion and they both sighed in relief when they entered the warm dry hall.

“Do you think you can manage to get to your room on your own, or do I have to help you laying on your bed?” Anders teased the elf as he finally let go of him.

The apostate stretched his arms and curled his nose when they ached a bit. Even his back was a mess, now. He turned on his heels, ready to leave the mansion, but a warm wet hand wrapped around his wrist and he almost fell backwards from the strength of this grasp.

“You didn't answer my question, mage. What have you lost?”

The mage turned slowly and stared at the elf, eyebrows raised.

“Not much more than you. Family. Freedom. Dignity.”

“Not much more than me, indeed.”

“Actually, a little more: I've lost my cat, too.”

To lose more, one had to possess more. It was simple maths. Anders may have lost more than the elf, though he'd rather have something to mourn than nothing to hang on to. He gently untied the fingers that were damn too tight on his wrist and left the mansion, wondering where this question came from. And what the real answer was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment, even if it's just noises (ouais, spéciale dédicace à une lectrice très spéciale) like 'aw' or 'mewls'. Or even to tell me what you've eaten today. Yesterday I was in a "sushis à volonté" and yeah, my stomach hurts. A lot.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you still want to keep reading, because in the night I had IDEAS! Yeah! Real ones, something like a plot, I guess.  
> So, don't be afraid, don't be shy, and tell me what you think about this chapter.  
> See you soon for the next one!
> 
> Sorry about the mistakes, but you know me well after all this time (and all my stories - too many of them, don't you agree?). They are everywhere in my writings. I should stop trying to pretend I can write in english. But I can't help it, héhé. If you have time, don't be shy and point them out, I'll correct them and send you virtual cookies for helping me.  
> I think I'm babbling today, am I not?
> 
> Thank you for the kudos, I don't know you but hey you're my lovely readers so virtual hugs for everyone!


	4. Shut up and kiss me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I said I would publish a new chapter last week, but actually, things happened and I was not really in the mood to write.  
> So we say RIP to my lovely guinea pig that died two days ago. I liked this little creature.  
> And my rat is kinda freaky with a big tumor on her face, it's really sad.  
> And we say goodbye to my exams cause I didn't pass them, surely. To have several lessons at the same time do this kind of things, make you fail and all.  
> BUT so you have good news, I subscribed on Tumblr, because some of you adviced me to. And then I realized I really had NO idea what to publish. Really. None.  
> AND I returned to this restaurant with sushis à volonté and I feel like I won't ever eat again.  
> I don't know why I share my life like this, you probably don't care. I don't care héhé, I do what I want, bwhaahaha  
> But hey, new chapter! yeaaaaah.

    When Fenris awoke, the pain was finally gone and he sighed in relief. He walked down the stairs, his hangover pulling lots of snarls out of his dry throat. He fetched a bottle of wine on the kitchen table and took a sip, sitting on a chair nearby. At this moment, he noticed a little unknown bottle left here on a note. He took it, though he could not decode the words. It was beautiful: all those intricate lines were gracefully written, the ink still glistening. He recognized the dark liquid in the vial and a smirk stretched his lips as he swallowed it entirely. A few minutes later, his mind was less foggy and he felt like he could kill a bunch of slavers right here, right now, on his own. He picked up his sword and went out. He had apologies to make, it seemed. As usual.  
    He needed only a few minutes to reach Hawke's estate and knocked. He dreaded seeing the woman and paced anxiously until Bodhan opened the door, surprised to see the elf on the doorstep.  
“Good morning” he just said, bowing slightly.  
“It's evening, serah.”  
    Fenris glanced at the sun, high in the sky, and frowned. He hoped his friends would not mind the time that had been passing by until he made an apology.  
“Good evening, then. Is Hawke...”  
“Fenris?”  
    Hawke appeared behind the dwarf and Bodhan bowed before taking his leave.  
“I assume you're here to...”  
“Apologize, yes. Yesterday, I was… not in a great mood.”  
“So you say.”  
    But Hawke's frown vanished and she smiled at him, shaking her head as if to say 'I can't believe I forgive you that easily'.  
“Merrill, of course, was not mad at you. Varric says he saved most of his novel and Isabela will forgive you if you do tell her the color of your underwear.”  
    Fenris' brows furrowed and he sighed heavily.  
“I don't need her forgiveness. Only yours.”  
“Fine. What about Anders?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Does he not deserve...”  
“Of course he does. Doesn't mean he'll get it.”  
    But Hawke knew Fenris would go to the clinic right afterward and she held back a smirk. Nodding silently, she whispered a quiet 'goodbye' and closed the door. The elf found himself alone again, under the shiny evening of this terrible day. It was warm, too warm. And Hightown was suffocating.  He felt like he was slowly burning; the sun hitting his markings like rain did the night before. Had he listened to himself, he would have spent the rest of his days locked up in his cellar. Safe. Away from pain. Close to wine. What more did he need, after all? 'Maybe company' a voice whispered in his mind and he shoved it away with an annoyed snarl. He never needed company before, it hadn't changed.  
“Blighter sun, maker damn you.” he grumbled, wiping off sweat that began to gather at the base of his hair.  
“Not in a greater mood, I see.” a voice said from behind him.  
    He turned on his heels, though he'd have recognized the voice anyway.  
“Mage” he greeted the apostate. “What are you doing in Hightown?”  
“Have you not read my note?”  
“I… No.”  
“It said I would check on you in the evening. You were very feverish last night and weren't even awake when I passed by earlier to brought you the potion. Whether it was the markings or the wine, or even a disease, I can't say. I thought maybe the potion was not enough, so I made another one.”  
“That's… thoughtful of you.”  
“I'm a very kind person. Too kind, I guess. Mostly with lanky cranky gorgeous mage-hating elves.”  
“I don't hate mages. Not all of them, at least.”  
“Of course not. You came to apologize to Hawke didn't you? But Hawke is not 'mage'. Hawke is Hawke.”  
“Mage...” Fenris warned him.  
“And here we go again. Don't mind me, I'll take my leave. You seem fine enough.”  
    It wasn't true. Fenris was burning. He was consuming under the sun. Though, he was used to it. However, be strong enough to endure the pain did not mean the pain was less intense.  
    He looked at the mage, who did not move. Instead, the man tilted his head on the right and quirked an eyebrow.  
“Are you? Fine enough, I mean.”  
“What's it to you?” Fenris barked, crossing his arms. “Why do you care?”  
    The apostate frowned and huffed, looking away.  
“I don't. I really don't.”  
    Silence fell. They both knew it not to be true. The healer sighed and got closer to Fenris, until he was just an inch away. The elf did not move, as if to keep control, to dare the mage, somehow. Anders' hand lifted slowly and cold fingers covered his sweaty forehead. There were no markings here. And the cold felt good on his skin. Pain was… pain was fading. Slowly.  
“What are you doing?”  
“Nothing.” the mage said with a questioning glance as he lowered his hand. “Fenris, is it getting worse?”  
“Yes. Everytime...”  
    The elf stopped, cleared his throat and looked away.  
“Everytime magic is used upon me. One day or another, it'll be better to let me die than to heal me with..”  
“With my filthy magic. Got it, Fenris.”  
    Anders suddenly looked terribly hurt. Fenris had not said anything, had he? He tried not to care about it. People kept saying Fenris had puppy eyes. Though it seemed Anders had got them too. Maker preserve him from compassion for an abomination.  
“It's like… It's like my body absorbs magic, keeps it, in order to torture me later again.” he said, watching silently his bare feet on the ground.  
    After a few seconds of silence, Fenris looked up. Anders seemed lost in his thoughts, brushing his stubble with his fingers, staring at the roof of Hawke's estate.  
“I guess… I have not found anything. Andraste's tits, my research was useless. After all, we don't know much about lyrium, do we? Maybe I should look into Tevinter books, it must be blood magic. Even Merrill could not answer any of my questions. Though I can't buy Tevinter books at the market, can I? I must be discreet, templars would be interested in a certain apostate who...”  
“Enough!” Fenris almost screamed.  
    The mage jumped and glowered at Fenris, a hand on his beating heart.  
“What?”  
“What are you saying, mage? You made research? You asked the witch? You want books on blood magic?”  
    Anders looked daggers at him and shook his head.  
“Woa. It's unbelievable. You can transform event that kind of selfless concern into some 'you-plot-against-the-whole-world-and-you'll-bleed-children-to-make-deals-with-demons-and-rule-the-earth' accusation. I meant only help you!”  
“Do you expect me to show you gratitude?”  
“Of course not. It'd be like Isabela wearing pants. Impossible.”  
    Fenris smirked before he could help it and Anders almost smiled as well. Almost. 'It's always seemed like he must have lost more than the rest of us'.  
“Don't bother yourself, mage. I accepted my fate long ago. You should do the same.”  
    Anders handed him the potion and Fenris nodded, thanking him silently.  
“I know a lot about accepting one's fate. You're lying to yourself.”  
“Don't pretend to know...”  
    Andraste's flaming fucking tits, would he ever shut the hell up, this infuriating hating elf? Anders would have hit himself for what he did at this moment. He felt possessed. Well, he was, but it was certainly not Justice who leaned forward to kiss Fenris' lips, closing them with his own, just to shut him up. He had not the strength to hear one more sound from this growling voice that condemned him at every word. He could not express in words the anger, the concern, the hurt, the bitterness, the desire. But he could melt all this into one meaningful kiss and, in the meanwhile, shut this beautiful mouth. Fenris shuddered and Anders stepped back, ready to flee a blue fist at any moment.  
“What...” Fenris began.  
“Oh please, kill me before he speaks again!” the mage said, rolling his eyes and turning on his heels. “Don't drink wine for at least three hours. You'd be a terrible mess because of the potion.” he added with a wave of his hand, not looking back.  
    Fenris shook his head in disbelief and stayed still long after the mage was gone. Finally, he was able to move and swallowed the potion entirely in a second. He felt less feverish, though he already knew nothing would ease the pain that was burning along his body. His sensitive skin seemed to cry out at every movement, the leather and armor brushing mercilessly the markings.  
  
  
    Anders took another glance above his shoulder. He was being paranoid. Hightown at night was certainly dangerous, but there was nothing he could not fight. Though, being so close to the Chantry made him shiver in the cold.  
    He reached Fenris' mansion and opened slowly the door. The elf never locked up – for the door to be locked, it needed a lock, right? The sound of his boots on the dust and rocks of the hall made him stop more than once. Of course the elf was not here, but it seemed he would appear at any moment, glowering, threatening and remarkably beautiful as he always was.  
“Don't forget why you're here” he whispered to himself.  
    Hawke had gathered a party to return to the Deep Roads where foolish dwarves needed help.  Hawke said they couldn't have gone too far and she did not need Anders to come. He had been relieved, and the woman had smiled at him, asking Fenris, Isabela and Merrill to accompany her. Anders thought it was a sign of the Maker.  
“Maker, this mansion is big” he commented after opening another door.  
    Finally, he found what he was looking for and entered the library, his staff glowing so he could see the books. Andraste's tits, there were a lot of them.  
“Well, let's begin, then” he muttered with a heavy sigh.  
    His fingers wandered on the old books, sometimes wiping the dust off. It seemed they had not even been touched in years. It was probably true, like almost everything in the house. Anders ended up hours later, sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of books. He had a few days, maybe a week or two, before Fenris returned. It might be sufficient.  
    Justice was displeased and Anders found himself in a terrible mood, because of this itch in his head that was screaming 'get back to work, There are things more important'.  
“This is important” he said out loud, like Justice could hear.  
    He read for hours, until the sun rose and lighted the room. Anders was hopeless, staring at the pile of books he had chosen. He had not learned anything. Well, that was not true. Now he knew how to bleed properly a new-born, how to summon a demon of despair without being frozen to death or even how to absorb another mage's Fade energy. Nothing useful. He buried his head in his arms, leaning on a pile of books just before him.  
“It'll take years!” he moaned desperately.  
    The last thing he remembered was the sweetness of dark as he closed his eyes, and the ache in his back as he told himself it would be great to lay on a bed.  
“Why so much concern, mage?”  
    Anders mumbled something in his sleep, until he recognized the deep growling voice and jerked awake, rising on his feet far too fast, stumbling a little. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the elf, who was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, but a bemused expression on his features.  
“Fenris, what are you doing here?”  
“I happen to live in here” he answered. “The question is: what are you doing here, mage?”  
“I… was reading.”  
“I can see that. Why so much concern?”  
    The elf was quick to understand. Anders felt embarrassed, like ashamed to care for a mage-hating former slave.  
“It is not concern!” he denied, closing some books scattered on the floor. “It is… purely scientific interest.”  
“So it has nothing to do with you making research about my markings?”  
“Not at all! I was interested in...”  
    He read a title and frowned. He wondered which was worse: the elf knowing he had come to care so much about him or pretend he was interested in dark magic and 'how to make a good summon circle in a graveyard'.  
“Doesn't matter.” he mumbled as he tried in vain to clean his clothes covered in dust. “Weren't you supposed to accompany Hawke?”  
“I was.”  
“Have you already found the dwarves?”  
“No. I left before that.”  
“Really? So I really am unlucky. Why?”  
“I had to.”  
    Oh Maker. Sometimes he couldn't be stopped while talking about 'Mages will make themselves magisters as soon as they're free', and sometimes one had to kill thousand slavers to get some kind of satisfied huff from the elf.  
“So I… I'll leave you then.”  
    But as he was about to pass, the elf stretched an arm, blocking the exit, and leaned down. Anders tried to move back but he stepped on a book and froze.  
“Do you think you can leave like that? You sneak onto my house, make a mess of my books and...”  
“Actually, nothing here is really yours.”  
“I claimed them as mine. So they're mine now.”  
    Anders' heart hammered in his chest and he swallowed hard, as he tried to keep his eyes on the elf's gaze. It was hard not to stare at the mouth just an inch from his, at the neck and the intricate blue lines, at the… Maker, he was staring. He looked up again and he caught a hint of a smile on the elf's lips. So the mage was learning he was not the only one who could tease in such a way. Fenris could be good at it too.  
“What are you going to do, mage? To make amends?”  
    Anders blinked, once, twice, and then he shook his head.  
“Maker, I hate you. Stop playing with me.”  
    But Fenris disagreed. He leaned forward again, and the mage could not flee, stunned by the scent that hit him. Maker, he could forget all about 'I don't drink anymore' when he was so close to Fenris' mouth, that smelled like wine. Good wine. Tempting wine.  
“Playing? Am I playing?”  
“You are.” Anders answered.  
    He meant his tone to be firm but he almost stammered these words, until he finally stepped back, crushing the book under his boot. No one would miss such work anyway. Anders widened his eyes and looked down.  
“Woa, it feels good to squish this book. I'd burn them all if I did not think they could be useful.”  
    A hand appeared to grab his collar and he was suddenly pulled and almost fell on the elf. He was glad the warrior took time to take his armor off when he returned. He leaned against the strong body when soft lips met his. Oh yeah, he'd like to get drunk on Fenris' mouth. A tongue stroke his lower lip, demanding entrance. Anders hesitated. Not long. He parted his lips and deepened the kiss, his hands finding their way to Fenris' neck, his fingers tangling in his hair. He felt the elf's strong arms around his waist and got closer, if that was even possible. Was it a game? Maker, he didn't give a damn.  
    Fenris wasn't going to stop. There was something strong about the mage's fingers on his neck. Because what he was feeling was far, so far from pain. He needed it as much as he needed to breathe. Maybe more, as he was panting against the mage's lips, not wanting to stop even to catch his breath. He wished it didn't hurt. But when a hand lowered to stroke his bare arm, fire ran through his veins, the rough fabric of his tunic scratching his too sensitive skin and he pulled back, whimpering. Immediately, the mage seemed to wake up from some dream and stepped back.  
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...”  
“It's all right, mage.”  
“I should go.”  
    There was no arm barring the exit now. But something even stronger: a voice asking him to stay.  
“Please don't go. If you go now I'll just reach a bottle of wine and spend the day focusing on the pain while trying to forget about it.”  
“Fenris… There's nothing I can do.”  
“I know.”  
    Maybe they reached some kind of understanding after years of bickering. It was odd it had to happen now. Anders had always been aware of Fenris' pain. First, he really didn't care. And then he understood it was real pain, the one that let you panting, wishing, dreaming, praying for it to stop, and you'd do anything, anything to keep it at bay. He'd seen distress, he'd seen silent begging. And when he first forced his magic into Fenris' body and pulled almost screams out of the mouth he hated for spilling words he didn't want to hear, he knew there was nothing he could do. He kept torturing him to keep him alive and Anders was slowly dying while healing.  
“I wish I could. I really do.”  
“Thank you, Mage. The books won't disappear, you should rest.”  
“Is that some kind of… blessing? Permission? Acceptance? Or a request?”  
“None of this. You can borrow the books. I have no use of them.”  
“Practical then, yes?”  
“Must you find words for everything?”  
“Words are simple. Words are one universal meaning for everyone. It is the one thing everybody shares.”  
“Do you think the Chantry would understand your words? Their meaning?”  
“They'll have to. They stick to their definition of a mage. I have mine and I intend to prove I'm the one who's right.”  
“One universal meaning for everyone?”  
    Anders almost smiled again. What would it take to make him truly smile? Indulge Meredith the bread-and-starving-rat torture? Fenris never made the mage smile. He wasn't the funny kind. Only Isabela, Varric and Hawke had the secret recipe to draw some laughter from the mage's mouth. Fenris liked this laughter a lot. It was sweet, soft, disreet. Not like Hawke's laughter who made every wall crumble on them.  
“I… understand your words, mage. More than your actions.”  
    Because the mage always said things he hated and didn't want to hear, but always did things full of gentleness and carefulness. Fenris understood anger and hatred, bitterness and grudge, but he was not familiar with concern, compassion and softness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it and, as usual, feel free to comment, I always reply. Thanks for the kudos, here and on the other works, you're lovely, little readers.  
> I have no idea where this is going and it feels really good! As if I too were like "aaah too much suspense! Can't wait for the next chapter! Oh Maker, I have to write it."  
> So see you soon! Or not.


	5. It's not a good story unless the hero dies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a new guinea pig! Welcome him! His name is Vader. Hem. Yeah, I know, don't you dare make any comment.  
> I wanted to share something with you: I finally played Trespasser last sunday. Do I need to say it felt like my heart was removed from my chest? And my arm, please, give me my arm back. Brrr. Now I need to play Trespasser while being a mage, an elf, a dwarf, a Qunari, romancing Solas, romancing Dorian, romancing Blackwall, Lelianna as a Divine and on and on. I think I might die before I tried all the possibilities. Can't wait for the next Dragon Age now.  
> Worst is to know that I thought I knew everything at the end of Dragon Age Inquisition, because it seems obvious enough for you to asemble the pieces. But NO. You need to buy and play Trespasser to know that everything you believed all those years about Dragon Age was bullshit. BioWare, I gave you so many years of my life TT   
> Is there someone sharing my despair?

“That was unnecessary, mage” the elf grumbled as he wiped guts off his leggings. “I could handle it.”

“I know” the mage simply answered with a shrug.

“That was a hell of a spell, Blondie!” Varric commented with a whistle.

The last rogue had simply exploded when hit by Anders' magic and the elf had been covered in blood and guts, which he did not seem happy of. Anders couldn't help it: he had seen the warrior in danger and all his magic had been forced into one unique powerful spell that had left him run out of mana. And now he deeply regretted it, when the wound on his arm came to his mind with waves of pain. Maker knew traps had always him wounded. He should be more careful.

“Someone injured?” he asked with an equal voice.

In the darkness, all he could see was the silhouettes of his friends, rummaging around to find some treasures. Well, Fenris was still busy cleaning his clothes with disgusted noises and Varric seemed more interested in writing down something that just crossed his mind.

“We're fine, Anders.” Hawke finally answered as she triumphantly waved a bag of coins found in a crate, with mysterious torn trousers. “We'll settle camp here, there's water nearby. Though, maybe we should walk just a few minutes, all this blood is quite annoying. What a shame, it was a good place to camp in.”

“Yes, Blondie. Try not to spoil a good spot with guts and internal organs next time.”

The party began to walk and Anders held back a sigh. He grabbed his staff with his left hand and steadied himself with it.

“I know none of you is a mage, but maybe you brought some lyrium potions?” he finally dared to ask, hope in his voice.

He knew he shouldn't have drunk the last one a few hours ago. He did not really need it – the others could finish the enemies without him – but he hated being useless and left aside. Had he known they'd found themselves in front of rogues and slavers _again_ , he would have thought twice about it.

“Shit, Blondie, you always ask this. How is it that you always lack of some?”

“And if I always ask this, how is it that none of you thought of bringing some more?”

Varric chuckled but did not reply, throwing a little blue vial to Anders, who caught it with a relieved sigh. He swallowed it and, under the satisfied look of Hawke, began to heal himself. The party turned and walked when Anders gave them a small smile saying 'I am fine'. However after two minutes of walking in the sand, Anders was left panting, sweating and stumbling with his staff. Isabela and Varric, a few feet ahead, were talking about some friend fiction about Aveline and Donnic, Hawke was laughing too hard to even notice she was also a part of that friend fiction and Fenris was a few inches away from Anders, looking at his companions' backs and snarling in disdain. Anders was staring at the floor, carefully taking one step, then another.

“What is it, mage?”

Anders looked up and noticed that Fenris had stopped, waiting for him. In the darkness, he could see nothing else but the markings that glowed faintly beneath the moonlight. His breath caught in his lungs and he coughed a little.

“Sorry?” the mage asked innocently, trying to straighten up a little bit, though he was almost leaning on his staff.

“You're annoyingly slow.”

“I'm tired! Try to blow up a dwarf with only a drop of mana after spending days healing people without rest and we'll see if you're that strong with that big sword of yours!”

“I told you I didn't need you to take care of that rogue. I can handle a bit of a scratch.”

“And who's gonna stitch it, uh?”

Anders sighed and tried not to look at his own wounds. He had managed to heal three of them before poison kept the energy to gather, - lyrium wouldn't be any help by now. Traps were tricky. Five arrows had been ejected from sort of a false rock and four reached their target, namely Anders. A deep wound remained on his arm and a scratch on his neck from the arrow of another rogue. The poison was making a way through his veins. It'd be painful, but not lethal for a spirit healer and a Grey Warden; he could handle it for a few days if he kept healing himself. They were on the way home, anyway. He'd have to ask Tomwise's help, that is.

“I'm not in any need of...”

“Hey boys!” Hawke interrupted the elf, waving at them. “We've found the perfect spot.”

Anders shut himself away after only a few minutes near the campfire. He sat near clear water, leaning against a big rock, sighing in relief. The silence filled his head and he surprisingly came to enjoy it – it was rare silence and darkness did not scare him. It was time to take care of that deep wound. He began to remove his coat, though he was slow unbuckling the belts and clasps with only one hand. He huffed in anger.

“Andraste's tits, I can't feel my fingers!”

It was terribly cold on the Wounded Coast at night and Anders' shivers raised waves of pain through his arm. He was about to give up when a voice came from his right.

“Need help?”

Anders jumped as his heart almost got out of his chest. Slender fingers replaced his on the buckles and he shuddered, but it was not the cold this time.

“Fenris? What are you doing here?”

“I am not unfamiliar with wounds. I can help, since you can't use both your hands.”

There was something unreal, while Fenris was helping Anders removing his coat, gently dragging his wounded arm off the sleeve. There were no gauntlets, no armor, and   
Anders could all but look at Fenris with widened eyes, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Stop staring at me, mage.” Fenris said without looking at him.

“Sorry.”

Fenris untied the bandages Anders always wore on him, wrapped around an arm or a leg, just in case he'd need more, found a rag in one of the pockets and leaned forward to wet it in the clear water. He didn't get closer to the little pond, so he was almost crumbling over Anders' legs. Finally, he began to clean Anders' arm, annoyed by the torn bloody sleeve of the mage's shirt.

“Take it off” he finally said with an exasperated sigh.

“No way! I'm gonna freeze to death.”

“You fled from the campfire.” Fenris stated.

“Hawke is like a mother bear. I don't want to worry her with just a scratch.”

“A scratch? I can almost see the bone!”

Anders couldn't deny he may have damaged more than he thought when he removed the arrow from his flesh. He was a healer and knew better, but in the hurry, he didn't take time to think.

“Don't be silly. I'll be fine. It just needs to stop bleeding, because my mind is quite foggy right now.”

Fingers snapped near his ear and he realized he had closed his eyes. Fenris' hand rested on his forehead and Anders tried to shove it away, though he was too weak for that. And this warm hand was far too gentle to be real, anyway.

“I can take care of myself. Thanks for the little help, though.”

“Don't be foolish. If there is one person you can't take care of, it's you. I'll help you with this.” he said, letting the rag fall to the floor.

As Fenris' fingers got closer, Anders jerked away and screamed.

“Are you mad? Don't touch the blood with your bare hands, you fool!”

“What?”

“I'm a Grey Warden, remember? Deep Roads, Darkspawn and taint. A lot of it.”

“Blondie, Broody? What's going on here? Something for a good story?”

“Yeah, because it's not a good story unless the hero dies, right?” Anders replied sarcastically as the dwarf appeared by their side.

“Who's dying?” Isabela asked with a too much cheerful voice for such a question.

Anders squeaked when Fenris, despite his warning, inspected the wounded flesh.

“Not a hero” Fenris snarled as he rose up to his feet. “The abomination is wounded and refuses any help.”

“Ow, you're gonna hear from Hawke, sparklefingers.”

Maker, maybe a year in solitary had been a blessing. He sighed and closed his eyes again, until he felt a warm hand on his. His left arm was now resting on strong shoulders and he was pulled to his feet with no gentleness. He could feel his magic itch under his skin in response to the lyrium. The elf was full of surprises, was he not? As he began to slip from Fenris' grasp, the elf shoved him on his shoulder with a disdainful snarl.

“Hey, careful there” he muttered in his half-consciousness. “Don't forget the coat” he added when he was led away from the rock.

The feeling in his belly should not exist. It was wrong, very wrong, and Anders closed briefly his eyes before he struggled, trying to draw away from the touch. He could not let the elf see what that proximity did to him. Anders suspected him to be wildly bemused by the situation. Anders was never the injured one in the party. He was the healer, he was the mage who weakened the victims so that the others would slaughter them, he was the one telling on a patronizing tone 'don't move or it won't heal' after a fight.

“Fenris?” Hawke suddenly asked. “What's happening here? Why are you carrying Anders? Oh no, you killed him, didn't you? You little bastard, he was...”

“Hey there! I'm not dead yet! Why do you always assume it would be Fenris killing me? I'm powerful too, you know?”

“Yeah, Blondie, but Broody has this fisting thing of his!”

“And I have a spirit of justice.”

“I have killed many demons before you.” Fenris replied, bitterness barely hidden in his voice. 'But maybe we could talk later about who would win the fight and try to keep you alive, mage.”

Fenris almost shoved him on the sand next to the campfire and left him here for a few minutes, under the curious gazes of their frozen companions.

“Since when does the elf care about your life, Blondie?”

Anders sighed. Fenris had always cared about his life. Was he not the one protecting the mages in a fight? Even Merrill. But somehow, this felt different. He rolled on his side and stared at the bedroll not far from him, avoiding to breathe in the sand that threaten to fill his nose.

“Maybe you could help!” he just answered as he was crumbling in the sand to lay on the bedroll.

Isabela was the first to react and took advantage of Anders' weakness to fondle him, her warm hands sliding under his bloody shirt as she helped him laying on the floor again.

“It's not that often we get the chance to see what's under your coat, sparklefingers” she justified herself when he growled at her, her hands still stroking his chest as she began to straddle him.

“Get your hands off him.”

Everyone turned to look at Fenris who had reappeared with the coat in one hand and a healing potion in the other one. He tossed both to the man lying on the cot, nose frowned in disdain and eyes glowering the whole party.

“Drink and sleep. Maybe you'll be still alive in the morning.”

“I don't need an elfroot potion.” Anders rejected. “We don't have much left, we need to spare them, if one of us get injured.”

“You mean if our only healer gets wounded by a sneaky rogue? Drink, that's all. I'll take first watch.”

He put back his armor on, fetched his sword and began to inspect the surroundings.

“What's with him today?” Hawke whispered, squatting next to Anders to help him drink the potion. “He's not like usual.”

“Is he not?” Anders asked, closing his eyes again. “He's all growling and glowering and snarling. It seems to me that's his normal state.”

“Hush, mage.”

Anders winced. The elf was not supposed to hear that. He was about to make an apology but he felt the lyrium close to him and the words died in his throat when a wave of pain raised in his arm.

“Andraste's knickerweasels, what are you doing?”

“Applying a tourniquet. You're still bleeding, mage.”

“Please take care not to touch...”

“I know!” the elf barked as he knotted abruptly the rag around Anders' upper arm. “Now hush and sleep. You'll be able to heal yourself in the morning.”

Did he really think it was a matter of mana again? Varric had certainly given Anders the last bottle, but he was still capable of throwing a fireball at that blasted elf without another one. Healing needed more focus however, a certain tranquility of the soul and the mind. That was why it was more difficult casting healing spells during a fight and easier after.

“Yes, healer” Anders answered with scorn, trying to hide his own concern.

Maker, why was he angry at the elf? It had been days, weeks since their last encounter alone, and the elf had said nothing about the last kiss they shared, almost fleeing the mage like the plague. He had been his usual-self after then, fulminating against mages, brooding, frowning, snarling. there was no sign anything changed between them. Back to the beginning. And Anders hated that feeling, though he was not sure why.

Fenris glowered at him and shrugged, before sitting as far from the abomination as possible. Still, he was watching over him long after he fell asleep, looking for the breathing, his heart stopping each time he didn't see Anders' chest rising. How he had come to care so much about the healer, he couldn't say. After spending so much time watching over him during battles, it had become obvious he cared about him, as the healer cared about the elf. He had not expected Anders to kill that rogue for him earlier. He had seen the scared look on the man's face and knew that something was happening between them. Something like trust, concern, fellowship, friendship. And yet the mage remained an abomination. Someone untrustworthy.

Fenris got closer to the sleeping mage, as something dark caught his attention. The blanket, the bedroll, the mage's hair and his shirt were covered in blood. Fresh blood. How was it possible with the tourniquet? His fingers were looking for another injury and he quickly found another one, just a scratch, beneath the mage's ear. The little wound had the mage bleeding to death!

“Mage? Anders!”

The apostate wouldn't wake up.

“Hawke! Need you here!”

The whole party was awaken when Fenris took Anders' head and raised it to make it lay on his shoulder and help the apostate drink another elfroot potion – though it wouldn't work if the mage didn't stop bleeding.

“Shit. It wasn't a rogue, but a trap! Poison prevents wounds from stopping bleeding.” Varric said, mumbling something about the Carta, the Coterie and dwarves in general.

“Why didn't he say anything?”

“Anders is just being Anders, Hawke.”

“Well, he's an idiot.”

“No matter how much I like the idea of strangling him sometimes, I can't make a tourniquet on his neck!” Fenris stated, both a hand on the mage's cheek and the other holding him up firmly against his armored chest.

He did not like the cold skin under his gauntleted fingers, the sweat that ran in drops down the apostate's face, melting with the blood. So much blood. It was no different than his own, taint or not. Fenris removed his gauntlets and his palm gently covered the scratch, pressuring it.

“Broody, you know we're not supposed to touch his blood.”

“Too late” Fenris just said. “Give me more bandages. Mage?” Fenris asked again when Anders had drunk the potion.

“Hmm? Let me sleep, I'm tired.”

Fenris searched for a poultice and began to apply them on the wounds. Hawke eyed him with suspicion, though she just shrugged and shoved her bag on her shoulder as Fenris began to bandage the mage's injuries with the poultices.

“I go back to Kirkwall. I'll bring poultices, potions and lyrium. I'll ask Tomewise's advice. Isabela, come with me. Varric, Broody, you stay.”

Soon, Varric, Bianca, Fenris and the mage were left alone in the cold night. Anders was shivering beneath Fenris and he wrapped him again with the bloody sheet. Varric was writing furiously on the piece of parchment he always kept in his shirt – it was a mystery how he found any space there with all the chest hair – and Fenris ignored his glares as he stroked a cold cheek covered with sweat and blood.

“How is it that you're not dead yet?” Fenris asked with false annoyance in his voice in order to keep the apostate awake.

“Grey Warden stamina, and a bit of a spirit inside, too. Maybe I'm just too charming to die.”

The noise of the quill scratching the parchment filled the night and Fenris rolled his eyes. He could well enough imagine what the story was, this time. A wounded mage about to die and a broody warrior who suddenly realize they're in love and allow themselves a last night and… Maker, what was he thinking about? Varric was not the one writing romance. And Isabela had left.

“How does it feel to be the dying one, this time, Blondie?” Varric asked as his quill continued to wander on the parchment.

They were all used to this kind of situation. There was always someone badly injured in the party. They always managed to save their skins, though. But somehow, Anders could almost read concern in the elf's eyes. Maybe they just weren't used to the mage being injured. He was the one who waved their skins most of the times. And there was no one else to save his ass now.

“Somehow I always feel like I'm dying.” Anders simply responded.

“Good one, thanks!” Varric nodded, his quill becoming furiously quick, the ink splashing his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliches. Again. I can't help it. I like it when one of them is wounded (yep, you've already seen that I think) and because Anders is a healer we always have to invent new ways for one of them to be dying. We always know the value of something once we're about to lose it, so it makes sense to use it in a story right? But hey, they're used to it, with Hawke there's always someone badly hurt. Unless you play the game in its easy mode.


	6. I see stars in darkness

Hours had passed. Varric had slept a bit after he finally managed to write down everything that had crossed his mind after their little adventure. Anders was still laying against Fenris and he sighed almost happily. He tried to heal himself again, slowing the effects of the poison so he would not pass out before Hawke's return. The elf and the dwarf made him drink a lot and he felt a little better than before, though he knew it wouldn't last.

“Care to share a story, Varric?” he mumbled, the silence filling him painfully.

This time he couldn't bear it, as he felt so weak and vulnerable. Silence was as much his friend as his worst enemy.

“I think you might have a good one to share yourself.” the dwarf answered, poking at the fire with a stick. “You've had quite the life.”

“I have indeed.”

He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, but he felt the same warm hand that had kept him awake for the past three hours pinching his left arm and he sighed, opening his eyelids again.

“Mage? A story.” the elf ordered.

“Fine, fine. But I choose the story and you have nothing to say about it.”

“Why do I suspect it'll be the story of some oppressed sad mage manhandled by a mean templar?”

“You've got it wrong. It's about a young boy, living in the Anderfels with his family. Look at the stars, Fenris.” Anders murmured, his own eyes raising to see the dark sky gleaming from the stars only, the moon remaining unseen for now. “In the Anderfels, it was hard to see them, sometimes. But the boy and his father always tried. They would lay on the grass at nightfall and wait for them to appear. In winter, they would share a blanket, shivering in the snow, but still waiting a glimpse of a star beyond the dark clouds. Sometimes, they had to go to sleep before they could see one, disappointed, but knowing that, the next evening, they might see them all. The father had stories about stars, about all of them. The boy would point at one, the shiniest, or the weakest, or even the most lonely in the infinite sky, and the father would start telling some legend about an elven god or a mysterious hero, about a soul, about a person, about little boys and little girls, about strangers that might exist somewhere. On an average evening, the young boy pointed at a very little star that was shining faintly, almost indiscernible, and his father smiled a bit. He told the story about a boy and his father looking at this particular star while the mother was waiting inside for her men to return home. What she didn't know was that one of them would leave one day and never come back.”

“Blondie, you're ruining the mood”.

“I don't think so.” Anders said with a faint smile. “The boy eventually grew up, far from his home. And sometimes, when his loneliness would be too deep, he would look at the sky and imagine an old man in the Anderfels staring at a very weak star and remembering that last night where he shared with his son some mysterious story about average people, missing him and regretting his mistake. Now I wonder if the stories he told me were true, if the little girls he spoke of existed somewhere and grew up as I did. I wonder if there's someone in the world telling the story of that boy who looks up at the stars now as a man and, despite the melancholia in his heart, smiles at them.”

“I had no idea you were such a great story-teller, Blondie. Maybe I should write that down.” the dwarf added with a smile, looking at the sky above him as he grabbed his quill again and tried to find a rock flat enough to use it as a table.

Fenris looked at Varric walking away and finally, when he couldn't stand it anymore, he looked up at the stars. He had nothing to think about when he stared at them. No story to tell, no memory to hang on to.

“What did you think of my story, broody elf?” the mage murmured, closing briefly his eyes before opening them again.

“It's beautiful.” he simply answered, lowering his head to watch the mage. He couldn't see his gaze but he tightened his grip on him, because he knew that if he could have seen his face, he would have seen sadness.

“I wished you had stories to share.” Anders said.

Fenris smiled. The mage understood that Fenris wanted what he lost back. His own story. And his compassionate tone made the elf coughed slightly. For now, it was the warrior who felt compassion filling his heart. He had heard the story of the father's betrayal from a drunk Hawke once. He had not think much about it, knowing it was the father's duty to turn his son in. Now maybe he had a different opinion. He still thought it had been necessary, though it raised now waves of compassion for the mage.

“I'll bring you water” he said as he helped the mage laying on the bedroll.

He returned quickly, the mage casting another weak healing spell on himself. The elf frowned and shook his head slightly.

“Why does it not work?”

Magic had its secret it seemed. And he'd never understand them.

“Magic doesn't solve everything. Though it'll keep me alive if I manage to not pass out.”

“I'm here to avoid it.” Fenris said in a teasing tone, smiling when he noticed a glimpse of surprise in the mage's eyes, as well as some embarrassment.

“And what could you possibly do to keep me awake when all I want to do is sleep for weeks?” the apostate mumbled, still struggling to keep his eyes open.

“I have some ideas” the elf answered, grabbing the mage again to make him drink.

Surely it would involve slapping him to wake him up. That was what he wanted to do most of the time: slapping the mage.

“Don't they hurt tonight?” Anders said as he ran a finger down a lyrium path on the hand that was resting on his torso, the arm wrapping him carefully to avoid the wounds.

“No. They will eventually. I happen to get some rest sometimes.”

“Well, that's good news.”

But suddenly, the mage grabbed the wrist and pulled the hand away to look at it, turning it to see the red fingers covered in dry blood.

“Why are they so bloody? Is this my blood?”

“It is.”

“You never listen, do you?”

“I'd say this remark lacks of credibility coming from you!”

“How clever! If you die from the taint, I'm not responsible.”

“Bloody mage...”

“Quite accurate indeed. How long will it take to Hawke to..”

“Longer than a few hours, mage.”

“It's gonna be a long night. Go to sleep, I'll be fine.”

Anders felt Justice stir at the idea of Fenris being far away. More likely, the markings on his skin, on not the elf himself. Since he joined with the spirit, Anders was far too aware of proximity of lyrium, including the elf. Though he would not admit it in front of the warrior. Fenris despised his markings enough without knowing it drew in spirits of the Fade – and, more likely to him, demons.

The fire was beginning to weaken and Fenris stared at it as if he could grow bigger flames by just watching the wood turning to ashes.

“I shall not leave you alone. I'll ask Varric if...”

“It's okay. I'm a big man. I need to rest anyway, you can't keep me awake all night long.”

Fenris stared at the mage. He had heard the story and knew too well what the mage must be feeling like at this moment. He feared the apostate would give up.

“I shall bring wood for the fire. I know you don't like dark.”

Anders raised both his eyebrows and closed his eyes, like he feared what Fenris could read in them.

“The darkest hour is not at night, Fenris. Go to sleep, I'll be all right.”

It was true. Anders had always been all right. Tired. Hurt. Sinking. But always fighting, and that was just enough to be all right.

“Fine, I'll sleep.”

But the elf didn't stood up to reach his own blanket not far. He just laid next to the mage and closed his eyes while Varric shook his head and mumbled something like 'it's about time'.

 

 

 

 

Hawke should have returned by now. The sun had risen hours ago and they were all sitting next to the water, Anders laying against a rock. Fenris sighed.

“Our opinions. None of them should matter”

They had argued again and even the mage couldn't tell how it started.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, still angry after their little bickering, bitterness worming its way in his voice.

“Open your eyes, mage. You and I, we're not meant to be the heroes or the martyr. The causes we believe in… it won't make any difference. You won't make any difference.”

“It's because people think like you that the world can't change. I'll make it change. There was a time I was like you. It felt like there was nothing I could do. But then Justice...”

“But then a demon told you what to do and you obeyed.”

Anders winced and Fenris guessed he was fighting with his pet demon inside his head.

“Your demon does not like me” the elf stated.

“It's a spirit. And actually, that's quite the contrary.”

“Sorry?”

“He thinks you're a fool for believing in the Circle. But he respects you and the way you stand for your opinions. He likes you, so he's just… disappointed that you are blinded by your hatred towards mages and...”

“Your demon likes me?”

“Spirit. Not demon. I think he likes more the lyrium. He can't make a difference, he's a spirit, he doesn't understand human feelings.”

“Feelings?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I said? Because it's quite annoying.”

“Can you make a difference between his and yours?”

“Of course not. We share body and mind. Well, I guess I'm wrong” he added after two seconds of silence. “Because personally I despise your markings.”

“What?”

The mage raised two hands in an apology, his tired eyes staring at the blue tattoos on the elf's arms.

“Don't get me wrong, I like how they look, and how they smell, how they itch my magic under my skin and how they call for the… damn it, Justice, give me privacy, thanks. Hem, what was I saying? Yes, well, they hurt. They hurt you very much. They make me hurt you. They make you hate my magic, hate me. So I hate them. It makes sense.”

“I… guess. I hate them too. Though, they served me well.”

Anders coughed slightly and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, it's useful to crush beating hearts, right?” he said sarcastically.

“Funny from a mage who can burn or blow enemies without touching them”

“You'll never forgive me for that one, will you?”

“I'm still covered with guts, mage. Will you do my laundry?”

Anders started to chuckle.

“What's so funny?”

“I… I have difficulties imagining the grumpy elf cleaning and all. Do you… Do you actually sweep? That'd be a sight for sore eyes.”

Before Fenris could answer, Varric burst into laughter and stared at Fenris, eyes traveling all the way down, before he laughed harder.

“Don't laugh, Varric” Anders said with a faint smile on his lips. “The idea of you sweeping is almost as hilarious. You would need a tiny broom, made especially for you, and a little bucket and...”

“I got the idea, Blondie!” Varric answered with a frown.

“Hawke!”

Fenris had stood up and hurried to the woman who waved at him. She didn't take time to say anything, just kneeling beside Anders and making him drink a dark potion before she tried to inspect the wounds, new poultices in hands.

The mage closed his eyes and Fenris looked away. He had to admit he was quite impressed by the abomination's strength right now. His face was still pale, his torn shirt covered in blood, the loose collar giving glimpses of bones that should not be so visible beneath the skin. He seemed weak, and yet Fenris had never seen so much strength in his whole life, as if he could read Anders' soul through his tired brown eyes and feel everything he had be blinded to before. He didn't like it in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment, I always reply, as usual. Thanks for the kudos. I hope you liked this chapter.  
> I can't imagine Fenris cleaning his mansion, seriously. C'est comme un pingouin dans une partouze de girafes. Unlikely.
> 
> I just SO need Fenders this week. Maker knows we need more fluff in this mad world. Comment with your favorite Fenders story, share, share, share! I loved many, but this week I'll choose Simple as a Knitting Pattern because it made me laugh so hard my face actually hurt (yep, I'll be sharing one at each chapter I post. Please do the same, there are too many pages of stories and good ones are sometimes hard to find)


	7. For a silver coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. It has been a long long time! So I'm back! I guess. With more Fenders fics. I keep reading yours so keep writing you lovely little things.  
> So, it was so hard to write a new chapter after all this time had passed. I forgot all the ideas I had for the story, so I have no idea where I'm going but hey, that's not new. I hope you'll like this new chapter and don't hesitate to comment, whether it's on the chapter or just to say hi! This site needs a dialogue box or some sort of.  
> I'm glad to be back.  
> Peace.

They had returned to Kirkwall two days ago and the mage was already working to exhaustion, despite Tom's advise. And Lirene's. And Hawke's. And Fenris'.

“You look terrible today, healer.”

“Ha, thanks, Kira, you're so heartwarming.” Anders replied on a sarcastic tone.

His wounds were now faded scars on his skin and he could stand without fainting, that was sufficient to declare he was able to get to work. He was busy, after his absence of a few days. Wounds, cuts, diseases. He had a lot to do. He was always busy after he went for a job with Hawke. Didn't know why he kept following her on her foolish quests. Probably for the coin, since he didn't accept that his patients pay him. It provided supplies for the clinic and it was necessary.

“Hey Blondie!”

“Varric!”

“Glad to see you're still alive. It's Wicked Grace night, have you forgotten?”

“No, I'll be here tonight, I promise. I'm just finishing here and...”

“It's night already, Blondie.”

“Really?”

“I'm here to escort you to the Hanged Man, since you're still a bit weak after...”

“I'm not!”

He finished stitching a little girl's wound on her forehead and told her mother to check on her all night long, asking her questions about the date, her name etc. He looked at the other patients who were waiting next to the door and sighed. There were too many of them.

He was about to tell Varric he would not come but the dwarf had disappeared. Anders heard his voice from the crowd.

“The healer will be back tomorrow. I see no emergency here, so please leave and come back in the morning.”

After the crowd was gone, he extinguished the lantern and, fists on his hips, smiled victoriously to Anders.

“Now you can come. Grab your staff and follow me.”

They headed to Lowtown and entered the Hanged Man. Anders frowned his nose when the typical scent of piss and vomit hit him. He ignored the stinky and noisy crowd and crossed the main room to reach Varric's room. He stopped on the doorway, analyzing the table. Something was wrong. Every one of them had a permanent seat around the table. Hawke, Isabela, Merrill, Varric, Anders, Aveline and then Fenris. But this time, Fenris was not on Hawke's right, but between two vacant seats. Anders had no choice but to sit next to him. He shrugged and sat between Fenris and Merrill.

“How are you, Anders?” Merrill asked, putting her hand on Anders' on the table, squeezing it lightly. A discreet growl was heard and everyone turned to look at Fenris who, arms folded, was tensed, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.

“I'm… fine.” Anders answered, raising an eyebrow before Fenris' attitude.

He finally looked away as Varric was giving the cards out and Hawke and Isabela disappeared to fetch some drinks. They quickly returned and everyone had a drink in hand, including Anders, who frowned before the tumbler of ale Hawke gave him.

“Tonight, you need a drink.” she ordered with a wink.

Justice was roaring in his mind, saying it was unproductive and useless, just as the Wicked Grace nights. But Anders was still the master of his own life and refused to obey to the spirit within him. He had a lot of respect for his friend, and agreed on many points, but after the two days he spent at the clinic despite his own state after his blood loss, he knew he deserved a bit of freedom. When the word 'freedom' crossed his mind, he looked at Fenris, who was carefully sipping his wine, as if he was cautious not to drink it too fast. They both wore invisible shackles. Anders was a prisoner of his own fate, as a mage, an apostate, a Grey Warden, and a spirit host, and Fenris was kept in jail by nothing more than another human. Once this man dead, Fenris would be free, wouldn't he? But Anders looked at the intricate patters that covered his body and knew the elf was a prisoner of pain.

“What, mage?”

Anders didn't realize he was staring, and that the elf was returning the stare for a while, now. He looked away and finished his ale, shrugging.

“Nothing.”

Fenris grumbled but didn't answer, putting another card on the table, with another silver.

“Come on Broody, you can do better!”

“Don't tempt me, dwarf.”

“Blondie?”

Anders widened his eyes. He had a hell of a hand. And had to follow his friends to continue the game. However, he had no coin left. Not a single one.

“Anders?”

He was trying to think fast, but was stunned. He never had such good cards in hand. And he was so unlucky that he had to give up the game because of one bloody silver. He was about to put his cards on the table and declare forfeit when something brushed his leg. He looked down and discovered a silver coin, on his left thigh, slender fingers drawing away discreetly. The elf didn't do charity usually, but Anders wasn't going to refuse such an offer: he had a chance to beat all his friends at Wicked Grace for the first – and probably the only- time in a lifetime. He would pay the elf back once he'd had gathered all the coins on the table. His eyes shimmered in the candlelight, the sight of so much money making him smile. So much food and supplies for the poor in Darktown. Bandages, poultices, new blankets, new…

“Anders? Do you have any coin left?”

“Yes, of course” he answered, tossing the silver at the center of the table with a victorious smile.

“Oh man, look at his face, he has such a good hand!”

Everyone stopped betting and left their cards on the table. If he was not such an open book, he could have bluffed, but what was left on the table was enough anyway.

“Bow before me, you poor mortals!” he exclaimed as he gathered the coins with an evil laugh.

“All right, keep the coin, Blondie. But for the next game, the loser must drink.”

Anders lost and lost, and lost, until he couldn't swallow one more ale without vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

“Let's stop this drinking game!” he ordered, swaying on his chair, brushing Fenris shoulder and arm from time to time, shivering at the contact.

“Are you ready to lose the few coins you won?” Fenris asked with a smirk.

Anders could have sworn Fenris didn't draw away from his touch but, on the contrary, got closer to the mage and smiled at the contact. But maybe Anders was just too drunk and imagined things.

“Let's stop drinking and begin stripping!”

Isabela immediately clapped her hands and Hawke burst into laughter. Varric shrugged, aware he would not even lose a boot. Aveline had left earlier and Merrill was lost in her thoughts, unaware of the game. Fenris' features were unreadable, as usual, and Anders stared a lot, trying to catch a hint, brows furrowed, a twitch of his lips, a look, a frowned nose.

“Fine, mage” he simply answered. “Let's see what you hide under this ridiculous coat.”

“Fenris!” Isabela exclaimed. “Are you admitting you dreamed of this for years now?”

Anders smiled and poked Fenris' shoulder, giggling. Annoyed, the elf batted his hand away with a sigh.

“The mage is not unattractive, I admit it.” he finally said, ignoring Anders still giggling.

“Oow, thank you, Fenriiiiiis!” Anders said, grasping the elf's arm and resting his head on his shoulder, scratching his stubble against the smooth skin. “You too you're not too bad. I'm eager to see you naked.”

“That's never gonna happen, mage, and you know it.”

“Shall we begin?” Hawke exclaimed, clapping her hands together to draw attention.

But Anders wouldn't get off of Fenris despite the elf's attempts to get off his grasp. Fenris put a hand on the blond head and pushed, but Anders resisted, his arms still wrapped around Fenris' despite the spiky armor.

“Continue, mage, and I'll pull your bloody hair out until you're bald.”

“Hmmm”

As an answer, Anders scratched his beard against Fenris' skin again, unaware of what it felt like. His lyrium brands didn't hurt, that night. And the sensation of that stubble scratching his blue scars had him shivering.

Varric distributed the cards and everyone looked at them, Anders finally letting Fenris go, to discover his hand. He was too drunk to notice that everyone was looking at him, trying to decipher his features. But Anders was too drunk to know if he had a good hand or not. He tried to concentrate, shook his head, but there was something more than the alcohol blurring his mind. It took time before he realized it was a damn spirit of justice reclaiming the lyrium song.

“Oh, shut up!” he spat out, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying voice in his mind.

“Blondie?”

But Anders looked at Fenris again, and licked his lips when he saw the lyrium lines before him. He wanted to lick them all, taste the lyrium on his tongue, hear the lyrium sing and soothe the spirit within him.

“Mage?”

Fenris had seen the feral look in amber eyes, as the apostate was getting closer and closer, until the elf was on the edge of his chair, trying to avoid whatever was going to happen. His eyes dropped on the mage's lips, where a tongue appeared from time to time, and he swallowed hard.

“I will never miss a Wicked Grace night” Isabela commented. “Come on Anders! Get him!”

Fenris stood up and fled, but Anders followed, staggering as he ran down the stairs and navigated between the tables to reach the exit. Then the first drops of rain hit his skin and he froze. He looked up at the sky and, let's admit it, it was a terrible idea. He lost his balance and fell to the floor in the mud. He had come to hate rain since that night, when each drop was a wave of pain for the elf. He looked at his dirty hand, watching the rain cleaning it slowly. He wondered if Fenris was somewhere near, trembling because of the pain, cursing the sky.

“Mage?”

Two bare feet appeared in front of Anders and he looked up, to discover the elf, staring at him with concern.

“Puppy eyes!” he exclaimed, pointing at green emeralds.

“Oh, shut it up!”

“Did you know I could sing?”

“Oh really?” the elf asked as he bent, grasping Anders' wrist to shove him on his shoulder.

“Argh, your armor is spiky!”

Fenris laughed and began walking, ignoring the protest.

“So, you can sing, right? Sing for me then.”

“Gnh.”

Fenris laughed again, as Anders' body went limp under his grasp.

“I'm not singing while you're holding me like this.”

Fenris was about to respond when he stopped walking, aware of the bandits ahead, who looked at him with a wide grin. Fenris put Anders on the floor as the bandits approached. Of course, he let his sword at the Hanged Man and Anders didn't have his staff. They were defenseless.

“Anders?”

“Hmm?”

The mage turned on his heels and finally saw the bandits, who were getting closer, drawing blades and raising spears. Fenris was about to order him to run, but the apostate just burst out into laughter until his whole body exploded in blue.

“ **I'm waiting for you, mortals**!”

Fenris often forgot that a mage didn't need a staff. And that the mage beside him was actually possessed by a powerful demon. A giant fireball hit the bandits, before lightning struck them all. Ten seconds later, they were all lying on the ground, lifeless.

“Why don't you do that on battles?”

“ **Because I need Anders' mana. A lot of it.** **And he needs mana to heal.** ”

Fenris shifted, ill-at-ease, as Justice's eyes stared at him with interest. The demon wouldn't leave and the elf knew the mage was too drunk to regain control over his pet demon.

“ **It's time we speak, elf.** ”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“ **Stop disturbing Anders. The plight of mages is much more important than one life.** ”

“His life?”

“ **Yours. He's searching for a cure. He doesn't write his manifesto anymore, he prefers to read the horrible Tevinter books you gave him. His time cannot be wasted for one single life. He has greater purpose.”**

“Don't get involved. He does that for me and I'm grateful.”

“ **Are you? What can you give him in return?** ”

“I'm no demon. We don't need to deal. I'm accepting a gift”

Fenris realized the few passers-by were watching Anders with curiosity and fear.

“Would you stop glowing? The templars will come!”

Immediately, Justice disappeared and the mage stumbled under the rain until Fenris caught him by the elbows to steady him. Anders grinned at Fenris.

“I discovered something. Let me show you.”

“Not here. Come.”

Fenris took Anders' hand and led him through Lowtown and Hightown, until they reached the mansion. Anders was giggling, staring at their joined hands.

“Please would you sober up now?” Fenris asked with a sigh, helping a drunk Anders to sit on the sofa near the corpses in the hallway.

Anders grinned at him. He looked wild, with his damp hair and wet clothes. Fenris disappeared for a few seconds, just to fetch a towel. He handed it to the mage, who tilted his head, as though he'd never seen a towel before. Fenris sighed again – how many times did he sigh this evening? - and dried the mage's hair and face before tossing the towel away. Anders patted the sofa so that Fenris would sit next to him. The warrior obeyed, still staring at the drunk mage. That drunk mage raised his hands and a flicker of blue light appeared in his palms. Immediately, Fenris stood up and fled.

“You're not to use magic against me, mage!” he spat, his lyrium brands activated because of... what? Anger? Probably fear.

“It won't hurt!” Anders said with a pout. “I promise.”

“Of course it will hurt!”

“Trust me.” Anders pleaded and, suddenly, it seemed he was totally sober. “I'm not gonna use magic on you. Trust me.” he repeated.

Fenris hesitated but finally sat on the sofa next to the apostate, staring at amber eyes with deep fear as glowing hands were approaching his skin. But when slender fingers touched his scars, he felt no pain. Something soft and warm spread all over his body, from head to toes. When he looked at his arms and legs, he realized he was covered by some shield of blue light that hugged his body.

“It's a shield. It will absorb magic attacks. You will feel the spells' effects, you will be frozen, or feel the flames, the lighting and all. But your markings won't hurt. That's all I can do for now.”

“Will it work against healing spells?”

Anders frowned and then shook his head.

“It would prevent me from healing you. So don't get injured while you have this shield.”

“How do I remove it?”

“You don't. I do. I will use that spell before every fight so you can fight mages.”

“Does it not demand mana?”

“It does. A lot of it. But less than the shield I build around you on the battlefield to prevent the spells from reaching you. And we both now I'm not always fast enough building that shield. And it's rarely strong enough. This new shield will permit you to fight Danarius. What do you think? Happy to get to be the target?”

Fenris hesitated. It felt like yet another mage had power over him, controlled him, had him enchained. He looked up, only to thank the mage – because after all, he was grateful – but only met blue eyes instead of amber ones.

“Why are you here, demon?”

“ **Anders hurts.** ”

“Sorry?”

“ **He is in pain. I don't know why. I can't understand, he's not injured. What's that?** ” the demon asked, contemplating the shield. “ **I can't hear the lyrium song. But I hear something stronger. It sings of the Fade.** ”

“Why are you here?” Fenris repeated.

“ **It's old magic. Very old magic. It's deeply connected to the Fade. To my home. I feel home.** ”

Justice raised a finger and brushed a marking, closing his eyes when his skin met the shield. Fenris drew away.

“ **Such a spell has a cost.** ”

“A cost? Only blood magic is about cost.”

“ **So obtuse you are. Where Anders learned that, I cannot say. I wish to stay a little. It sings of the Fade.** ”

“Then tell me more about that shield.”

“ **I think Anders is half stepping into the Fade while using this spell. Luckily, he can't be possessed by the demons there.** ”

“Of course, he's already possessed.”

“ **But demons can hurt him nonetheless. You know about that, lyrium ghost. You half step into the Fade when you activate your markings. The difference is that you draw no demon, for you are not a mage, not a vessel. Demons want to hurt Anders.** ”

“Why?”

“ **So that I would turn into a demon. I am a spirit of Justice. Anders suffers unjustly. It makes me angry. I'm not supposed to be angry. I'm immune to human feelings. But when we merged...** ”

“Enough. I heard enough. Give me Anders back.”

“ **I know what's going on between you two. I am not blind. And I don't agree.** ”

“We don't need your approval, demon. Now go.”

“ **As you wish.** ”

The drunk Anders was back, swaying on the sofa and grinning wildly, though Fenris noticed his smile was tensed. So there was always a cost. Oh Maker, how he hated magic!

“Mage, remove that shield.”

Anders obeyed and sighed in relief when the shield disappeared.

“I should go home now.” he said with a yawn.

“At such a late hour, in Hightown and Darktown, without a staff and completely drunk? You speak nonsense. Stay here. I'll bring you a blanket.”

“A blanket? Am I going to sleep on the sofa? Even my cot at the clinic is more comfortable! And see, I can't even lay down!” he said, proving his point by stretching out his legs, that dangled off the sofa. “This sofa is too small!”

“Tis not my sofa that is too small, but your legs that are too long.”

“And see! Skeletons and mushrooms, half a feet away. I'll be sick if I stay here one more minute.”

“Fine, fine” the elf gave up. “You may sleep upstairs, in the bedroom.”

Anders grinned, stood up and jumped, almost falling on Fenris, who dodged at the last second, letting Anders crash back onto the sofa. He grabbed an arm and pulled, guiding Anders to the staircase. One step at a time, they finally reached the clean room, where Anders collapsed immediately on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I recall, I promised I would suggest a Fenders fic at each chapter. So here's my suggestion for this chapter : Torn Trousers by runsinthefamily. Because I laughed so hard reading it, it was pure genius.


End file.
